


Clever Tyrants

by LadyLan



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:13:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5191700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLan/pseuds/LadyLan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Clever tyrants are never punished, but I think it's about time we try." Written for the 'We're Just Saiyan' community's Voltaire's Whispers Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clever Tyrants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Piccolo_is_green](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piccolo_is_green/gifts).



> This is my response to the Voltaire challenge. I remember reading Candide in college and not being a huge fan - it was just soooo long. :) However, Piccolo is green found some a-mazing gems that translate so, incredibly well to this fandom. If you have some time, go check out the list at the We're Just Saiyan google community. Maybe you'll be inspired, too!  
> For the purposes of this story, I chose the quote clever tyrants are never punished.

Anora Rightbold boasted skin a brilliant shade of green and smooth, dark hair that always caught the light in a manner Bulma Brief found rather envious. Her own hair had once been just as luminous, but that had been with the assistance of expensive product. Products which had been destroyed along with her planet. Sure, they'd managed to export several of Earth's luxuries - capsules, pepperoni pizza, British comedy - but no one had salvaged her favorite silk therapy serum or dry shampoo.

Nevertheless, she wasn't envious. But she'd be lying to herself if she wasn't feeling nostalgic.

"Earth to Bulma," Anora parroted the line she'd often heard the other woman use. It was a phrase that made absolutely zero sense anymore, but one Bulma couldn't shake. "You there?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Just have a lot on my mind."

"Ah." The other woman nodded and straightened in the hard, cafeteria chair. "Mechanical issues, I presume. Did the Saiyans manage to break something? Again." There was a smile in her voice at the last word, and Bulma laughed.

"No, but it's only a matter of time. Stupid brutes."

Anora's dark eyes shifted away from their table. "Careful. One of them might hear you."

"During dinner?" Bulma scoffed. "They aren't able to hear a thing over the sound of their own chewing."

"Just remember, they aren't the worst shipmates we could have. They keep us alive, and employed."

Bulma bit her lips together to keep in a retort. Anora wasn't wrong. Saiyans, though savages who fought more frequently than they showered, had never given her any trouble. As their on-board mechanic, Bulma did little else but repair their training devices and keep the ship's engine running. An important, if overlooked task.

"Do you think Nappa's handsome?"

At Anora's words, Bulma choked on her dinner, making an unattractive show of coughing to clear her air passageways. When she'd successfully silenced herself, her gaze flickered in the tall man's direction. He was at a front table, reserved for Saiyans of the highest rank. "No."

Anora laughed. "I was stitching his arm today and I noticed it for the first time. I guess he's the kind of handsome you don't realize until you're up close."

Bulma frowned. Nappa was not the sort of handsome that got better with detail, but she didn't vocalize her feelings to Anora. The ship's doctor had made her way through enough of the 16 Saiyans on board, and Bulma always thought her taste questionable. But they were friends, of sorts. There weren't many non-Saiyans aboard this ship; therefore they tended to stick together.

Anora sat up straighter, pushing her chest forward in a manner that would make any number of the sex-starved warriors take note. Nappa, however, only continued to shovel food into his mouth. Chancing a glance over, Bulma met eyes with someone else entirely.

Far more sinister than Nappa. And far more deserving of Anora's attentions. Fortunately the doctor was too smart to go flirting with the devil himself.

Bulma didn't have many run-ins with the ship's captain. In fact, she'd never spoken directly to him before, only ever heard the occasional command or complaint voiced in his haughty baritone. Anora had spoken of their captain from time to time - he couldn't be bothered with the mechanic, but he often injured himself and needed the assistance of the ship's doctor.

Vegeta broke eye contact and didn't spare her another glance. Bulma held her breath. It was better not to be noticed, she assured herself. But she'd been on board for almost sixteen months and she doubted the captain knew her name.

As much as she hated serving the Saiyans, it was Frieza who had put her there. Who had ripped her home from beneath her feet, who had taken those who could serve as doctors and mechanics for his fleets before doing away with everyone else on her homeworld. She hated Frieza, not Vegeta. Vegeta was a just a pawn. A brawny, powerful pawn, sure, but it was Frieza who'd earned her wrath - not the Saiyan prince.

…

She had striking eyes. Vegeta added it to the list of things he doesn't give a shit about and continued eating.

Frieza had sent them to another backwater planet for some paltry reconnaissance. It's so fucking beneath him he wants to blow all the shit up, but he's on a space vessel and he's smarter than that. So he tries to control his breathing but he can feel his energy crackling just the same.

Nappa pauses from shoveling fork loads of bland food in his mouth and frowns. Wisely, he doesn't say anything. The bald man averts his attention to his dinner. Vegeta's teeth clench and he doesn't want to sit in the fucking tank to let his molars heal. So he attempts to relax. Again.

As much as he hates the bastard, at least he's surrounded by his kind. They're strong, loyal and dumber than a box of shit. But the first two attributes mean more to him anyway - he's the brains of the operation, and it's better for a leader if his subjects don't think for themselves anyway.

…

Frieza didn't award his minions much time off. There was one holiday on the universal adopted calendar, the day to celebrate when Friea became the universe's sovereign ruler - Frieza Day. Bulma wanted to roll her eyes at whoever so cleverly came up with that title.

The Saiyans had being doing so well they'd been invited to attend the festivities on Planet Cold.

And so, after a night of what Bulma could only assume was drunken debauchery, she tiptoed out of her room and gently slid the metal door closed behind her. The hallway was eerily still. She could hear the echo of the Saiyans snoring away in their bunks. The sun on Cold would be rising soon; she didn't have much time.

In one hand she gripped a smooth metal device. It was the size of her thumbnail and when she squeezed it, it left the imprint of an intricate letter i on her palm. After taking another step forward, Bulma thought better of it and stuffed the drive in her bra.

Turning the corner, she froze. Her bones were stiff. Her eyes wide.

Vegeta stood draped against one wall, arms crossed and lips a resting frown.

"Going somewhere?"

Bulma swallowed, her throat so dry she was certain he could hear the action from his place four yards away.

She'd purposely dressed like any woman who'd be sneaking around Planet Cold in the wee hours of the morning. What had they called this sort of action on Earth? She wracked her brain. Walk of shame. She tugged at the hem of her skirt, hoping those few less inches of thigh would somehow translate to a few more inches of dignity. Vegeta's frown never wavered. Her hands shook at her side.

Apparently she'd stayed silent too long, because in a movement too quick for even her clever brain to process, he was in front of her. Brows narrowed over dangerous eyes.

"Are you sneaking off my ship?

She nodded her head, once. It was better not to lie. She could hear her own panicked breathing. Through her lungs but getting caught in her throat. Maybe Vegeta wouldn't kill her. Maybe she'd suffocate first.

"Tell me why and maybe, if I like your answer, I won't kill you."

Surprising them both, Bulma laughed. His eyes narrowed another fraction.

"You'll kill me either way."

"Then humor me."

She lifted her chin a fraction. She'd set out to do something risky and daring tonight, and since she wasn't going to get the chance to follow her original plan, at least she could go out with a fight. "It'll be more fun, dying with you not knowing why."

Suddenly his hand was around her throat. Iron-strong and unwavering. She clawed at his powerful fingers and it was clear - she'd be dying by asphyxiation after all.

"How long?" he demanded, voice severe. She'd always found Captain Vegeta frightening, but she'd never known him quite like this. "How long have you been giving our secrets to Frieza?"

Bulma stopped grappling with his stranglehold. Her eyes widened in realization, with shock. And because she was so fucking brilliant - even in times like this - she reached into her bra and retrieved the small metal device. The overhead lights gleamed off the intricately engraved i and Vegeta dropped her.

She hit the ground ass-first. She wheezed and tucked the drive back into the safety of her push-up bra. With a tender hand on her throat, she felt the swollen tendons. It'd definitely bruise. Bulma glared up at Vegeta who watched her with a careful eye.

"You don't strike me as a rebel."

She shrugged and got to her feet. Her legs shook. "You know nothing about me."

It was true. Vegeta's jaw clenched.

"The Insurgence," she began, and then bit her plump lower lip. The Insurgence, what? Bulma wracked her brain. Vegeta was a servant of Frieza. He should've already killed her by now. But then again, he'd thought she was a spy for Frieza, and wasn't that something? What could the Saiyan prince be up to, that he'd need to look over his shoulder? "They - we," she amended, "need to punish him, to make him suffer. We have to."

"Clever tyrants are never punished."

Bulma grinned. "He's not that clever."

And something like a smirk flashed briefly across his features. Vegeta's eyes lingered on hers, and then he stepped to one side and let her pass. Granting her permission to carry out the Insurgence's plan.

...

His ribs were cracked. He spat another mass of bloody phlegm onto the training room floor and glared at the Saiyan lying unconscious on the ground. Two powerful strides and he was standing over the man who'd managed to injure the prince. Vegeta kicked the man's limp frame, watching with hollow satisfaction as he skidded across the floor, crashing into the far wall with a thud.

Vegeta smirked, flashing the gawking onlookers two rows of bloody teeth before clutching his injured side.

"Raditz," he barked. The low-class soldier jerked to attention. "Carry him to the tank."

Raditz bowed and quickly tossed the other man over his shoulder. Without a word, he followed his prince to the doctor's ward. Instead of Anora, however, it was the blue-haired mechanic who turned as the trio entered. Her blue eyes widened a fraction - probably all the blood - and she hopped to her feet.

Vegeta frowned. The female was wearing stained coveralls - nothing like the dress she'd donned three nights prior, when she'd attempted to sneak off his ship unnoticed with all the sleuth of a deranged animal. She clutched a wrench in one hand and a dirty cloth in the other.

"Anora's in her chambers," she said, her voice not wavering as Raditz laid Cucomb on one of the tables. "Is he alive?" Her bright eyes were on the man's chest, where the faintest rising could be seen. She sighed with relief.

"It doesn't take a doctor to put him in a tank."

Bulma frowned, her annoyance palpable. "The tanks out of order at the moment."

"Isn't it your job to fix it?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Useless."

"How about instead of blaming me, you tell your men to stop blasting their way out of the fucking regen tanks."

"How about you do your fucking job and keep your complaints from your captain."

Raditz cleared his throat. "I rang the doctor's com. She'll be right in."

Bulma huffed and turned back to the broken tank while Vegeta glared at the back of her skull. Sure, he'd granted her pass three nights ago. He'd thought she was a spy for Frieza, giving away his private dealings, whatever they were. It was no secret Frieza did not trust the Saiyans. However, it was Vegeta who'd been shocked to find that while the frail blue-haired mechanic did turn out to be a spy, it wasn't for Frieza. No, she'd donned the symbol of the rebel groups plotting to overthrow the tyrant. And with her brains… He was more than slightly curious as to what she'd been up to.

Anora entered, took one look at the bleeding, broken Saiyan and sighed.

"Raditz, carry him into the operation room." And then she nodded at Bulma. "Wrap his ribs."

"I'm not a doctor."

"No, but you're a genius. I think you can manage your way around a broken bone."

Bulma frowned and approached him. Vegeta stiffened and noted the way her skin puckered between her brows. She had no wish to help him. It was the only reason he stayed, to piss her off. And maybe because he was curious. The lithe little mechanic hoarded secrets he could only guess at.

She cleaned the wound with the strong-smelling anesthetic. It was slightly maddening, Vegeta decided, that she was doing more for the Insurgence than he was. They'd both lost their homeworlds to Frieza, and yet she was the only one who'd had the balls to do anything about it.

"Stay still," she commanded, looking mildly irritated as she unpinned the gauze. "You're shaking."

So many who'd suffered at the hands of Frieza were more than happy to lower their heads and float along, carrying out the tyrant's wishes so long as it kept them alive. But not the mechanic - what was her name? It didn't matter. He frowned as she finished wrapping his middle.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to continue my actual job now."

He only glared as she turned from him.

…

"Vegeta," the other man on the com device said, his voice light. Vegeta's fist clenched and replied,

"Zarbon."

"Your ship is about two hours from ours. We'd like you to make a short stop over."

Vegeta's frown deepened. It was never good when Frieza needed a visit in person. "Why?"

"Frieza would like to have a word with Bulma."

Vegeta blinked. Who the fuck was Bulma? And so, with a crinkled brow, he asked, "Who?"

"Your mechanic."

His lips parted, his eyes widened. No. Instead, he cleared his throat. "We're on our way."

…

Bulma rounded the corner to find her captain looking even stiffer than usual. She opened her mouth to poke fun of just that, but her words died at her lips the moment his dark eyes met hers. She'd never seen anything apart from irritation and murderous rage in them, and the slated look of sympathy he shot her was like a kick to the gut. She froze.

"Is everything okay?"

"We're docking soon," he replied. His hands were behind his back. "Frieza has requested an audience with you."

Her already sallow skin bleached. Her white teeth took that plump lower lip of hers in the most appealing of bites, and Vegeta scolded himself. Here she was, thoroughly fucked, and all he could think about was fucking her.

"He…" she opened her mouth, trying and failing to find any more words. Something strange flared inside him, and Vegeta wondered where the urge to protect her was borne. Probably because she was fighting the fight he wanted to. Maybe because Frieza didn't deserve to lay a single hand on her.

But he was far too level-headed to stand in her way. The hatch opened and one of Frieza's minions took the mechanic by the forearm and led her through the passageway. When she was nearly out of sight, she turned around and met Vegeta's eyes.

Her eyes were striking. This time, he found he did give a shit.

…

She was shaking. This was it. If Frieza had an ounce of mercy in his blood, he'd make her death quick. But Frieza wasn't known for his mercy, and she feared the worst.

How he'd discovered the spying device she'd planted in his com system she wasn't sure. How he'd managed to trace it back to her brought on another surge of confusion. However, he was the ruler of the known universe, and how could the Insurgence think she'd be able to outsmart his prowess, his resources?

Vegeta had been right. Clever tyrants are rarely punished.

The throne room came into view. Frieza sat sipping plum-colored liquid from a glass. He didn't even have the decency to look angry. No, he just looked… bored. She thought she'd feel more, facing her death, but apart from the cool sheen of sweat collecting at her neck, she felt… nothing.

"Bulma?" he asked, his snake-like voice causing a shiver to snake down her spine.

"Yes," she replied, not recognizing the meek word as coming from her own mouth.

Frieza nodded at one of the men standing guard at the base of his throne, and he stepped forward and extended a device in her direction.

And Bulma could only blink. The gridded screen. The single knob on top. It was her Dragon Radar. But… no. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was unlike any Radar she'd built herself. The design was a copy, but the materials were not those of Earth. It was crafted with the same nearly-indestructible metals she used now. But… how?

"Do you know what this is?"

It was best not to lie, but she found herself shaking her head anyway.

"Hm." Frieza's disapproval was obvious. "Your father made it, but he assures me it's nothing. Perhaps the old loon is right."

Her eyes snapped open, wide and confused and delighted all at once. Bulma tried to keep her features neutral, but her heart was thumping against her bones.

"Very well then. Pigio, take her back to the Saiyans."

…

He was pacing when she returned. Vegeta stopped in his tracks, confusion pulling at his features. Bulma's face was pinker now, her eyes still slightly dazed.

He took a quick assessment and found her unscathed.

"How?" he found himself asking.

"He's alive."

"Who?"

Bulma could only smile through her confusion. But was it really so shocking? She'd thought everyone dead, but she'd been saved for her mechanical prowess. Surely her father had tested just as well, if not better. Why he was building a Dragon Radar was beyond her, but for a moment she'd had visible proof of her father's existence.

"My father. He's alive." She looked at him then, really looked at Vegeta. "I thought he was going to kill me."

"I was sure he would."

One side of her lips lifted into something that was almost, slightly a smile. "He didn't."

"No." Vegeta's face remained impassive. "How is it going?"

And she knew what the 'it' was. In that question she heard the unarticulated question, and the weight of the words he didn't speak. It was treason for him to associate with her, a rebel, but perhaps Vegeta would be willing to fight the good fight as well. He'd been terrified, after all, that she was telling his secrets. What those secrets were, she looked forward to hearing.

"You should have killed me, when you found me with that drive."

"Hm," he hummed in agreement. "But I didn't."

"We have the manpower, the brains," she continued. "But we could always use some additional brawn."

"There are sixteen of us here alone that despise him, that have lost everything thanks to that bastard. He's made enemies at every corner of the universe." And as he thought about sticking it to Frieza, a smirk crested his features. It was actually a rather frightening look, but Bulma smiled anyway.

"Clever tyrants are never punished, but I think it's about time we try."


End file.
